You're a work of art
by AAB
Summary: In the proces of restoring their friendship Harm and Mac visit an art fair.
1. Chapter 1

**You are a work of art  
**  
 _September  
Mac's place_  
 _Friday evening,  
_ "What would you like to do, tomorrow?" Harm asked, looking up from the magazine he was reading.  
Mac hesitated. Of course she liked to 'do' something with him, and a few things came in mind she was not ready to share with him. Since their resolution to restore their friendship, a few weeks earlier, they had both worked on it. Making time for each other. Bouncing off a case once in a while. Restarting their weekly run on Sunday morning. Friday evenings' movie nights. Unfortunately, if that was the right word, it had also rekindled her longing for him and her hope they would get it right someday. Eventually. She supressed a sigh.  
In the meantime Harm had been waiting for an answer and now it seemed she failed to give one, he caught her attention with a slight cough.  
"Sorry, I zoomed out for a moment," Mac quickly apologized. "What I want to do, tomorrow? Let me think."  
It wasn't that she didn't want to spend the day with him; on the contrary, she had been very happy when he suggested to do something, other than the 'usual'. Her thoughts went a thousand miles a second. She was sure she had seen something … Suddenly she stood up, headed for the pile of junk mail, sitting in a box under the headstand waiting to be thrown out and started to rummage through it. Harm waited patiently, curious for what she would come up with.  
It took Mac a few minutes to retrieve the flyer she had been looking for, but then she showed it to Harm.  
"Look, there is an art festival in Fort Trotten Park tomorrow. Performances and street artists and stalls with artwork. I thought it might be fun." A bit apprehensive she looked at him. Harm wasn't really an art person. But to her relief he nodded.  
"Yes, might be fun. Weather forecasts are good, not to hot. What time does it start?"  
"Ten o'clock."  
"What time shall I pick you up?"  
Mac visualized the map of Washington.  
"I think I better pick you up," she suggested. "You'd have to make a d-tour and I can just drive by your house. Ten o'clock?"  
"All right," Harm smiled.

Not much later he called it day. Mac walked with him to the door. He turned to say his goodbye and for a moment they just looked at each other. Their eyes locked and tension rose, but then he got his voice back .  
"See you tomorrow then. Ten o'clock." He hardly recognized his own voice.  
"Yes," Mac answered, forcing her voice to work. She stepped back and saw him walk towards the elevator. A quick wave and he was gone.  
When Harm was on his way out, he wiped his forehead. Wow, that had been close. He had been on the brink of grabbing her and just kissing her senseless. If only that hadn't been the best way to destroy their growing friendship once more and ruining his changes for ever. It should be forbidden for a woman to be so breathtakingly beautiful. He snorted. H***, who was he kidding? Even if she had been ugly as night, to him she would always be the most beautiful woman on earth, just because he loved her.  
Inside Mac angrily wiped her eyes. H***, why hadn't he just grabbed her and kissed her? Or better, why hadn't she grabbed _him_ and kissed him? She let out a mirthless little laugh. Right, that would be … because of Sidney, because of the 'feeling death' remark, because she was scared to death by the thought of ruining their friendship once more. Because she was a coward and couldn't bear not to have him in her life. Despite her distress she hurried to the window, knowing he would look up for a last wave before stepping into his car and driving off.

 _Fort Trotten Park  
Saturday morning  
_Both had woken up with the same resolution: their friendship was not, repeat, _not_ going south again. Whatever it took!  
So when Mac knocked on Harm's door, she smiled and when he answered it was with a cheerful "Good morning, Marine."  
On their way to the park they chatted about everything that came to mind, except their relation. Mac parked and they walked the small distance to the rows of stalls and small fields with performers. There were all kind of arts, from sculptures to paintings, from pottery to quilts and weaving. Between the stalls a couple of musicians were performing and on a separate little field several sketch artists had set up their easels and were waiting for the people wanting to have their portrait drawn. Street artist were setting up their props, stalls with food and beverages were making ready for the crowd and already there was the fragrance of coffee and pastries in the air. A bit further away was an enclosed camp with a doorman standing in front of it, probably the place where the artists stayed if not working.  
"What do you want to do first?" Harm asked.  
Mac looked around.  
"Why don't we just have a look at the stalls first, then have a cup of coffee and then go and watch the artists?" she suggested. "Are you looking for something special?"  
She didn't expected him to answer in the affirmative, but till her surprise he nodded.  
"Yes. You know that poster I had above my bed? Last week when I was cleaning, I dropped it. It's damaged now and since I was kind of fed up with it anyway, I thought I would have a look around and maybe find something to replace it. And you?"  
"Not particular, but maybe a little knickknack. I'll just see what comes up."  
They walked by the stalls, picking up an item once in a while and putting it back. Mac mainly looked at jewellery and sculptures, while Harm had his eyes open for paintings and photographs. Suddenly he fell dead in his steps. Mac followed his gaze. They were standing at a photographer's stall. He had photos of buildings, animals and nature, but what had caught Harm's eye was a picture of a flock of birds, flying into the sundown. Slowly he reached out to pick it up  
"It's perfect," he sighed. "Too bad it's not the right size."  
"But they are available in other sizes, too," Mac pointed at a little sign telling the would-be customers just that. "Maybe this comes in a poster size as well."  
"Yes," a voice said. "And I even might have one in my truck."  
A bit startled they looked up. It was the man behind the stall who had been speaking.  
"You took this?" Harm asked.  
"Yes. Last summer at Lake Michigan. At a fair like this the smaller ones sell better, but all of these are available in larger sizes, too. In fact, up to wall paper format. If you're willing to pay for it, that is."  
"23 by 33 inches, what would that cost?"  
"Framed about 75 bucks, unframed about 50." He reached under the stall and produced a box with frames of different material and in different colours. He took the small picture and held it against the several frames, to see which one was the best match. It turned out to be a narrow very dark-brown, almost black one.  
"I don't assume you have …" Harm started, but the man already shook his head.  
"No, I don't, but I can have it ready by Monday. If you fill in an order form now, you can pick it up or I can deliver it to your house. But I'll have to charge you another 10 dollar for that."  
Harm nodded.  
"With my working hours, it would be better if I picked it up myself. I'll fill in a form and you give me a call when it's ready," he decided. "Then we arrange for a date and time for me to come and collect it."  
"Fine with me," the other man laughed. He grabbed a form and a pen and shoved them over the stall to Harm. A few moments later Harm had written down the required information. The man tore of the carbon copy and handed it to Harm, together with his business card and a little piece of paper.  
"What is this?" Harm asked surprised.  
"A lottery ticket, Sir. At each purchase the buyer gets one. You can hand them in at the stall on the field where the sketch artists are seated. There are some artworks to win, or you can have your portrait drawn for free. Harm nodded, folded the order form and put it in his inner pocket.  
"Thank you," he said. "We'll be in touch."

A few stalls later it was Mac's turn to stop. It was a sculptor's stall and it was filled with little figurines. Carefully she took one in her hands. It felt very smooth.  
"What kind of material is this?" she asked.  
"Soapstone. It's also called French chalk. It's a soft kind of stone and easily to work with only a file and sandpaper. These are my work, but I also give courses in making them." She pointed at a stack of leaflets.  
A hand-sized figurine of a mother and child caught Mac's eye. Picking it up she asked "What does this one cost?"  
"That one will be twenty dollars," the sculptor informed her. Mac gave her find another look and nodded. She swallowed and reached for her purse. In the meantime she threw a glance at Harm; surely he must remember … But as usual his expression was unreadable and she supressed a sigh.  
Harm in the other hand had a hard time to keep his face straight. Only just over a month to little AJ's fourth birthday; just over a year till the date they had set themselves for their baby deal. Would they have mended fences by then, well enough to execute it? He fervently hoped so.  
Mac received her purchase, safely wrapped in tissue and a lottery ticket as well. Once again she glanced as Harm. Should she hint at ... no, better not, she judged. Not with the risk of bringing tension on their regrowing friendship. Instead she suggested "Why don't we walk this last row of stalls and then I could go for a coffee."  
"Fine with me," he laughed.

Coffee and a cookie in hand they stood and watched one of the street artists, a puppeteer, handling two marionettes.  
Mac smiled.  
"Makes me think of that scene from the movie "Sound of music'," she mused. "You know, when Maria and all the children perform for their father and uncle and that baroness."  
Harm frowned. It took him a minute to rake up the scene. Then he said "That song of the goatherd and his goats?"  
"Yes. It must have been ages since I saw that movie."  
"Maybe we can rent it one time for our movie nights?" Harm suggested and he was rewarded with a bright smile and "I would like that."  
Harm dropped a coin in the performer's little basket and they walked on.  
"Are you going to take a course in soapstone sculpting?" he asked, referring to the leaflet Mac had put in her purse.  
"I don't know. I think it will be fun, but with our job … you always miss out on lessons because of having to work overtime or being send on an investigation," Mac pondered.  
"Maybe she offers workshops as well. A day or an afternoon in a weekend is easier to schedule," Harm commented.  
"We can do it together," Mac blurted out. It took a while and then Harm answered "Yes, we can." It sounded strangely choked and Mac turned to look at him.  
"You don't need to, if you don't want," she hesitated. "I don't want you to do something you don't like."  
"No, that's not it. I mean, it sounds like fun. I like working with wood and it would be nice to try another material," he replied quickly  
Mac frowned; there was something wrong, or at least odd on his behaviour.  
"Harm, what's wrong?"  
"Nothing." His answer came to fast to be genuine.  
"Harm?!"  
He rubbed his hand over his face. "There's nothing wrong. It's just … us doing things together. Making plans again. After this past year …" He swallowed. "It just hit me how happy and lucky I am we decided to give our friendship a second change." A bit helplessly he looked at her to see whether she understood. Mac felt her throat tighten. Mutely she nodded.  
"You're right,' she whispered. "Sometimes it feels like a dream come true."

Coffee and cookies gone they wandered to the field with sketch artists.  
"Let's hand in our lottery tickets," Harm suggested. "Maybe we won something."  
Mac nodded and together they walk towards the stall. Mac handed over her ticket, but she had drawn a blank. Now it was Harm's turn and he had more luck. The man smiled and handed him a voucher.  
"You have won yourself a free portrait." He turned and pointed to the group of sketch artists. "You can go to either of them, the one you like the most. It will only take 15-20 minutes."  
"Thank you," Harm answered. He threw a quick sideways glance at Mac. He wasn't too fond of having his own face hanging on the wall, but if he could cajole Mac to model ... he would love to have _her_ portrait.  
Mac drew his attention.  
"Why don't we just walk around to see which artist you like the most?" she said and Harm found it a very useful suggestion. They wandered the field on which about twenty artists had set up their easels. Each of them had also a small pin board on which they showed a few examples of their work.  
Not all of them appealed equally to Harm, but then he spotted a young woman with short red curly hair. She was sitting next to a picnic bench, which she used to have her customers sit on while modelling. It now was occupied with two children of approximately seven and eight years old, looking a bit shy. The mother stood a few yards away, watching the portrait grow under the skilled hands of the artist.  
Five minutes later the young woman had finished her work and handed it to the mother. She beckoned her children and the three of them admired the drawing. Money was exchanged and then the customers wandered off.  
The woman turned to Harm and Mac.  
"Hi."  
"Hi," Harm replied.  
"So you want a portrait of you? Or you?" she said, looking at Mac.  
"Well, actually I won one." Harm showed her the voucher.  
"Well, sit down, then."  
"Not me, she," Harm declared.  
Mac's jaw dropped.  
"Me?"  
"Yes, please?" he said with a begging look in his eyes. For a moment Mac looked at him, then, with a shrug, she took the proffered spot on the bench. The woman pinned a new sheet of paper on her easel and took her pencil. Harm stood a few feet aside and Mac looked at him.  
"By the way, my name is Miranda," the artist said.  
"Harm. And this is Mac."  
"All right. Mac, can you just look at bit to your left."  
Mac did as she asked.  
"Turn your upper body a bit more, please?" Miranda walked over and made sure Mac sat in exactly the right position. Finally she asked her to slick het hair out of her face. Satisfied she went back to her little stool, sat and started sketching. Harm looked in rapt attention.  
When the sketch was finished, Miranda took a spray can and applied some to the paper.  
"What's that for?" Harm wanted to know.  
"It's a fixation spray," Miranda explained. "If I wouldn't use it and you brushed over the paper, you would get smudges." She allowed the spray to dry and showed the result to Harm and Mac.  
"Beautiful," Mac sighed and Harm couldn't agree more.  
With a smile Miranda carefully rolled the paper and put it in the container, before handing it to Harm.  
"I'm going to have it framed and hang it in my bedroom," Harm declared.  
"Why?" It came out harsher than Mac had wanted.  
"Because I like you with me. Besides, you're a work of art." It sounded serious.  
Mac felt very touched. It sounded like he really cared. Maybe … She wrestled a tear, but lost. Suddenly she felt a hand on her face and a thumb rubbing the wetness off her cheek. She looked up to see the concerned look on his face. Without thinking she stepped closer and was rewarded with a strong chest to lean onto and two arms encircling her. Her own arms slipped around his waist.  
Harm felt her tremble and uttered a muffled curse. Nervously Mac looked up. Was he mad?  
Seeing her look Harm explained "In the past I hurt you so many times and made you cry. When you gave me a second chance to restore our friendship I vowed never to give you cause for tears again. And look what I've done!" He sounded truly disgusted with himself.  
"Harm!" Now she was annoyed. How could he denigrate himself so much?  
"Stop pulling yourself down. A woman can cry because she is touched, you know. You did _nothing_ wrong!"  
"But …"  
Now Mac had enough. Suddenly she stood on her tiptoes and planted a quick kiss on his lips.  
"Nothing wrong," she repeated. "And now you stop battering yourself, understood?"  
Harm laughed relieved. "Yes, Ma'am."  
"You can do something for me, though," Mac said and now it was her turn to make puppy eyes.  
"Anything, sweetheart." He cringed inwardly; he shouldn't let such words of endearment slip. Luckily she didn't react.  
"Wil you please sit and have your portrait drawn, too?"  
"Why?"  
"I like you with me, too."  
Harm wet his suddenly dry lips.  
"Okay."  
He turned to Miranda, who had been watching the scene.  
"You can do that now?"  
"Of course," she laughed. "That's why I'm here for."  
Harm walked over to the picnic table and sat down.  
"How do you want me?" he asked.  
'What about in my bed, naked and not sleeping' flashed Mac's mind, but she didn't utter that thought. It would be too embarrassing, not only for the two of them, but also for the artist. Luckily Miranda had taken the question as her cue as well.  
"Just turn a bit to your right," she said "and look … Why don't you stand over there, Mac, so he can look at you?"  
She attached a new sheet of paper and started working again. Another twenty minutes later she grabbed her spray again and finished her work with applying a thin layer of fixative. Harm approached to see the result and both were struck by how good the sketch was. He nodded.  
"It's very good," he said.  
Miranda smiled and grabbed another container. When she had put the drawing in it, she suddenly looked a bit nervous.  
"Cab I ask you a favour? The two of you?"  
"Yes," Harm answered surprised and Mac nodded her agreement.  
"You know, I have to make portraits for a living. But that means you have to sketch everyone willing to pay for it. You hardly have a chance to choose your models. You … there is something about you ... I would love to make a sketch of the two of you. Please?"  
Harm and Mac exchanged a look and then Mac shrugged.  
"Why not?" she said.  
Miranda smiled broadly.  
"Thank you.''  
She pinned a new sheet of paper on her easel and then did a few steps to and fro. It was clear she tried to determine how to portrait them. Then she made up her mind.  
"You sit on the table," she told Harm "and your partner sit on the bench. Look at each other." Dutifully Harm and Mac did as she said and Miranda proceeded with fussing around a bit, motioning them to sit a bit closer and telling Mac to turn towards him more and Harm to take his partner's hand.  
A bit nervous Harm took Mac's hand and brought it to his lips. He barely touched her, but she felt her hand tingle all over and she had a hard time to contain herself.  
"Hold that position," she vaguely heard Miranda's voice.  
The young woman knew she hadn't much time, so she started to sketch franticly. Ten, fifteen, twenty minutes. Harm and Mac didn't notice, they were lost in each other's eyes. Even Mac's internal clock had stopped working and both jumped when Miranda's voice penetrated their bubble.  
"You can move again; I'm done.''  
A bit dazed they looked up and reluctantly Harm let go of Mac's hand. Both needed a moment to compose themselves. Miranda just smiled. She walked over to the table and spread out the drawing.  
Both Harm and Mac gasped. What they saw could be described in one word. LOVE. Pure unadulterated love.  
Harm was the first to regain his voice.  
"Thank you, it is beautiful," he said, knowing his words didn't do justice.  
"My pleasure. As I said, it's nice to pick you models once in a while." She rolled up the work, put it in a container and handed it over. "Maybe you can have them framed in similar frames. The will make a nice triptych," she added innocently.  
Harm nodded mutely. He knew that was not likely to happen.

In the car the tension was palpable. Neither knew that to say, so they drove on in silence. Nearing his house Harm found in increasingly hard to breathe. His palms were sweaty and he had to hold himself from digging his nails into them. He threw a sideways glance at her. She was completely focussed on driving. What was she going to do when they reached his place? Just wish him a good afternoon? He forced himself to another gulp of oxygen.  
Mac _was_ concentrating on driving. She knew she had to; traffic was busy and she had no death wish. It was that or cry or scream. How could she have been so stupid as to let that woman make another portrait of them, one which showed her love for Harm so obvious. Surely, when they were at his place he would make himself scarce as soon as possible. Maybe he would manage a 'see you on Monday' but that would be all. She squared her shoulders; it wasn't the first time she survived a broken heart.  
They reached his place and she turned the car into the parking lot. She turned off the ignition and with a hiccup the engine went dead. Now he would … 'Harm, say something' was her silent prayer.  
Harm forced himself to move. A quick glare taught him she was still looking straight ahead. He … suddenly he heard himself speak.  
"She was right, you know. I do love you. I am in love with you. So much." He drew a shivering breath. "I know it's not …" unable to finish his sentence he hid his face in his hands.  
Mac's hand went to her mouth and she let out a little squeal. It took a considerable amount of time before she managed to utter a word.  
"Shall we take this inside?"  
He nodded and without looking at her he grabbed both of his containers and started to lead the way. Mac grabbed the third one and followed him. 'Would it be the last time?' flashed her mind.

Inside both placed their containers on the table, but neither made an attempt to open them and get the contents out. Instead the silence was deafening, until Mac finally whispered "Did you …"  
"Mean it? Yes, every word."  
"But why…?"  
"Why now? Why Sidney? Why I didn't stand up? Why the 'feeling death' remark? Would I have stopped the wedding?" Why our fight on the Guadalcanal?"  
Mutely Mac nodded. He had it summed up nicely. Part of her wanted to go on, leave the painful past behind; another part knew those questions would keep haunting her. Harm walked over to the window and looked outside. Talking to her would be hard; talking while looking at her almost impossible.  
"Sidney … I was not rejecting you, not really. I was asking for time. To figure out … I hardly had recognized what I felt for you as love. And so much had happened the year before ... you just ambushed me. Stand up for my … for what? My rights? I thought you had made your choice. For a while I convinced myself you hadn't meant it at all. After all, if you had meant it … two days later you wore another man's ring. Brumby's." The pain was still audible in his voice and Mac hung her head. He was right; she had ran into the arms of another man, a man she knew Harm disapproved of, to say the least.  
"That comment? It was … in a way it was worse than Sidney. Sidney was stupid, this was mean _and_ stupid. It was just, it hurt, it hurt so much knowing in a few days you would be his and I would lose you altogether. He would have found a way to …" he shrugged helplessly. "I guess I just lashed out, somehow wanting you to hurt as well." He took a deep breath. "That evening when we were to talk and Renée …"  
Now Mac interrupted him.  
"You don't have to apologise for that, Harm. She was your girlfriend and had every right to expect you to be there for her. I have to admit, I never felt so lonely, standing there outside in the rain and watch you comfort her, but you did the right thing."  
With a short nod Harm acknowledged her words.  
"Our fight at the Guadalcanal? Again you ambushed me. I would have said yes, but then again, it didn't matter anymore for Renée and I were already history. And I didn't want you to feel like a back-up, second best. Like I only came to you, because she had dumped me. Well, she did, but in fact she set me free. And before I figured it out, you had left."  
Silence ruled for long moments. Then Mac sighed "So much has happened; so much has changed."  
"Yes," Harm agreed, finally turning towards her. "But one thing has not. My love. I loved you back then, I love you now and I will always love you."  
He didn't move, his face was calm, but the look in his eyes told her everything she needed. Mac did the only thing she could do; in a few steps she was with him and in his arms.  
"I love you, too. So much."


	2. Chapter 2

_**Part 2  
**_

 _Same park  
First week of June, a year later  
_Just a stroll in the park. It was the perfect way to spend a bright summer day. Sucking in the fresh air, admiring the flowers and the lush green of the trees, enjoying the first ice-cream of the year, and that was exactly what Harm and Mac were doing. Hand in hand they wandered the pathways until they found themselves at almost the same place as last year's memorable art fair had been. Mac was the first to see it.  
"Look, they have a fair again," she exclaimed. "Let's have a look."  
Dutifully Harm turned and followed her towards the square where stalls were erected and the area where artists were sitting and sketching behind their easels.  
Suddenly Mac nudged Harm  
"Hey, isn't that … yes, it's her! It's really her! The woman who drew our portraits."  
She wasn't the only one recognizing. The other woman stood up with a broad smile on her face and waved her arms in the air. Mac pulled Harm's hand and together they walked towards her  
"It's really you!" the young woman exclaimed. "I so hoped I would see you here again; I knew it was a long shot, but ... I'm so happy!"  
Surprised Harm and Mac looked at each other.  
"Why?"  
The woman blushed.  
"It's a long story. Maybe we can sit somewhere and I'll tell you."  
Mac nodded eagerly; she could do with some rest as well.  
The young woman walked over to a neighbour, who was busy sketching an elderly man.  
"Can you keep an eye on my stuff?"  
"Off course."  
"Thanks, I'll be in the big tent," and with that she beckoned Harm and Mac to follow her. Like the previous year, a kind of camp surrounded by cloth-covered barriers was set up at a little distance. She showed her identity card to the man standing guard and took them with her inside, to a large tent.  
Mac spotted some bathroom facilities and asked "Can I use those?"  
The woman nodded and gasped. It was only now she noticed Mac's protruding belly. Harm laughed out loud.  
"That's a long story, too."  
The women went to the counter to get some tea and when Mac had joined them again, she started to talk.  
"First, I don't remember whether I said my name last time. Let me reintroduce myself. I'm Miranda L'Engly, I'm twenty-five and I study art at the Washington Art Institution."  
"Harmon Rabb and this is my wife Mac." A broad smile spread out over Harm's face, like each time he introduced Mac as his wife. Then Miranda went on.  
"I have a scholarship and this …" she thumbed to the park "pays for rent and supplies. I have to thank you and I have to make a confession."  
Both Mac and Harm looked dumbfounded.  
"Last autumn you," she looked at Harm "won a free sketch and you wanted me to draw a picture of Mac. Then I made one of you and afterwards I asked you whether I could make one of the two of you. You might have seen me make photos of them, but you might not have noticed I took some of the two of you as well."  
Surprised Harm and Mac looked at each other; indeed they had not.  
"As I said back then, it's nice to pick your own models once in a while and the two of you … there was such a chemistry between the two of you. I have to tell, I do mainly oil paintings. Sketching is either a way to make a living or I use them as preliminary studies for my paintings. I decided to work out those sketches to a painting, but I didn't ask for your permission and for that I apologize."  
Harm looked at Mac.  
"Well, we are flattered we inspired you," she said, "but yes, you should have asked for permission. That painting, do you still have it?"  
"Yes. This is it." Miranda produced a few pictures. They were sitting in almost the same pose as on the sketch, but this was even more intense. The love between them almost radiated from the canvas.  
"Wow," Mac sighed and Harm couldn't agree more.  
"There is more to it," Miranda confessed. "I told you I study art. Was studying, I have to say, for two weeks ago I graduated. This was my graduation project and a it … well, I came through with flying colours," she ended a bit smugly.  
"Congratulations," Harm and Mac said in unison.  
"Therefore, I have to ask you a favour."  
Harm raised a questioning brow.  
"Each year there is an exhibition of all the graduations projects. Mine was chosen best of year and so it will be in the place of honour." She smiled proudly. "I have to say, it means a lot to me. Not only the honour, but it's also a big chance to make a bit of a name for myself. Lots of people will come and see, and there will be an article in a renowned art magazine. However, to exhibit I need your permission."  
"I like to see it first," Harm stated, "before I make a decision."  
"Me too," Mac agreed.  
"You're very welcome in my studio," Miranda declared. "We can schedule a visit right away." She took a deep breath. "There is yet another question I have to ask you. This year the exhibition is linked to a charity event and all artists are asked whether their entry can be auctioned to raise money."  
Harm frowned.  
"What charity?" he wanted to know.  
"Child protection, especially help to sexually abused children," Miranda told him. "I have more information, if you want to."  
Harm sucked in a breath.  
"I don't know …"  
"I think I'm okay with the exhibition," Mac pondered. "Providing we like the painting, but seeing the pics I don't think that will be a problem. But I don't like the idea of hanging on the wall in the house of a complete stranger."  
Harm nodded his agreement.  
"Okay, then I will notify the organizers." She looked curious. "But what is your story, if you don't mind me asking? I'm sure there _is_ a story."  
"Harm and I have known each other for several years now. We are both lawyers, and work with JAG. The Navy's legal department," Mac explained at Miranda's nonunderstanding look. "We have been best friends for years, but last year there were … problems and our friendship went south, deep south." She didn't want to dwell on that. "But in the summer we decided to try and mend fences. We were working on that when we visited the festival in September. Your drawings … well, they made us see what we were desperately trying to hide from each other, that we love each other."  
"And it went from there," Harm continued. "Now we are married and have a baby on the way. So you see, we have a lot to thank _you_ for!"

 _Exhibition room_  
 _Late August  
_ "There you are!" Miranda came rushing to greet not only Harm, but also Frank and Trish who were visiting from California. "Glad you could make it."  
"Wouldn't want to miss it," Harm laughed. "May I introduce you to my parents, Frank and Trish Burnett?"  
They shook hands and then Miranda asked "Mac's not here?"  
"No, and this is why!" and with a grin from ear to ear Harm produced a small stack of pictures, of him and Mac, proudly holding a little baby. "Our daughter, little Jessica Sarah, born eight days ago."  
"She is adorable," Miranda sighed, looking at the pictures.  
Proud grandparents Frank and Trish beamed as well.  
Pictures properly admired Harm requested "Show us your painting?" Miranda smiled broadly and led the way to a small hall. Here the best of year projects were exhibited, with Miranda's painting proudly at the place of honour, illuminated by several little spotlights. It was given the title 'Love'.  
Harm as well as Frank and Trish fell dead in their steps. Even though Harm had seen it before, here, framed and properly illuminated, it was overwhelming. Miranda smiled and gave them time to recover.  
Trish wiped her eyes.  
"It's gorgeous," she sighed and Frank could do nothing but nod.  
Slowly they walked nearer and had a good look. Frank noticed a book, lying on a pedestal and a red dot on the plaque naming the title and artist.  
"What does that mean?" he wanted to know.  
"People can write a comment in the book," Miranda explained. "And the red dot means the work is not up for auction."  
Harm bent to read the comments. Without any exception they were praising and several expressed their regret the work was not up for auction.  
"I see. How do you do?" he asked.  
Miranda was about to tell when she was approached by some other visitors and had to answer a few questions. Harm walked away and turned to look at some other artwork. He hadn't the least desire to be recognized as the man in the painting  
In the meantime Frank went in search of the organiser of the exhibition. He stayed away for quite some time, but when he returned, he had a satisfied smile on his face.  
He took his wife's arm.  
"Trish, I'm sorry, but we have to go." He looked apologizing to Miranda and Harm. "I have a meeting to attend."  
"No problem," the young woman laughed. "I'm very pleased and honoured you took the time to come and see."  
"The pleasure is totally ours, young lady. You're one remarkable artist and I am sure you have a great future ahead," Frank told her.

 _Harm and Mac's house  
October 16th  
Trish' birthday  
_It was early evening and they were sitting in the living. They, that would be Harm and Mac, Trish and Frank. The latter two had decided to pay their son and daughter-in-law a visit, both because of Frank having some business in Washington and because of Trish wanting a cuddle with her granddaughter. In addition to that, today was Trish birthday and she wanted to celebrate that with her son and his family.  
They had enjoyed a nice evening meal, one of Harm's famous pasta dishes, Jessie was fed, had her diaper changed and was dozing in her bassinette, while the adults were having a chat.  
Suddenly the doorbell sounded and with a smile Frank rose and went to answer, beating Harm to the act. After a few moments he returned with an unexpected visitor. It was Miranda L'Engly, hauling a large package with her.  
The three people in the room looked surprised and Frank chuckled. With a questioning look Harm showed her to a chair and went to fetch her a cup of coffee. Then he waited for Frank to start speaking, which didn't take long.  
"I can see you don't understand, and Trish, you didn't quite understand when I didn't have a birthday present for you this morning. Well, seven weeks ago, when we were at that exhibition, you," he looked and Harm and Mac "told me the painting of the two of you was not up for auction, because you didn't feel comfortable with it."  
"True," Mac admitted. "I didn't want our love on some stranger's wall."  
"I understood, but I thought, maybe if that stranger was no stranger … So I went to talk to the organizer and he spoke with Miranda. Trish, this is your birthday present."  
In the meantime Miranda had removed the protecting layer of blankets and there it was, in full glory, the portrait of Harm and Mac!  
Trish gasped and tears welled up in her eyes. She gave her husband a tight hug. Then she looked at Harm and Mac.  
"Are you comfortable with it hanging in our house?"  
" Yes," both Mac and Harm laughed.  
Trish walked over to hug them as well and then thanked Miranda. The young woman laughed.  
"Don't thank me. I know your husband paid a good price for it and I'm happy it has found a good home."  
Harm rose to pour another cup of coffee and his mother admired the painting once more.  
"How did the exhibition and the auction go?" Frank wanted to know.  
"Very good. There have been over five thousand visitors and the auction raised almost thirty thousand dollars. The Help the Children foundation was very pleased. It exceeded all their expectations." She smiled. "And I got a job out of it and a bit of money as well."  
This was met with questioning faces.  
"Explain," Harm requested. "I thought the complete result of the auction went to Help the Children?"  
"It did," Miranda confirmed. "Including the money your dad paid for this painting. But there was a public prize as well. All visitors could vote for their favourite art piece and I won." She grinned smugly. "The prize was five hundred bucks. And then, I don't know whether I told you, but my major is not painting, but restoring. Besides knowledge of all kinds of art styles and technical knowledge you need a steady hand and an endless amount of patience and not many people choose that direction. During the exhibition I was approached by an employee of the National Gallery of Art and I got an offer for an internship." She beamed with proud. "Dozens of candidates apply and I got it."  
"That calls for congratulations," Harm laughed and the others wholeheartedly agreed.  
"It doesn't pay well, so I still have to moonlight, so to say, but I already have one or two commissions."  
"Doesn't surprise me," Frank voiced his opinion. "And I hope you find time for one more."  
Four nonunderstanding faces looked at him.  
"I want you to paint our granddaughter. Twice, one for us and one for you," he said, smiling to his son and daughter-in-law and Harm and Mac smiled back. After all, wasn't their little princess a work of art, too?

The end


End file.
